


the one less traveled by

by Deisderium



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A Lot of Beef Okay, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Bucky Barnes, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Beefy Steve Rogers, Childhood Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Glo-Up, Happy Steve Bingo, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Social Media, Tangentially, dumbasses to lovers, eventually, omg they were roomates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: When Bucky left Brooklyn, they were fifteen. Steve hadn't wanted to admit it to anyone, but he'd cried. They'd promised to keep in touch, they'd promised that nothing would change—but of course, it had. They'd gone from being in each other's pockets all day, every day, to being on other ends of the country. It wasn't the same; it couldn't be.*In which Bucky moves back to New York, and in which Steve is inordinately thirsty.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1135361
Comments: 115
Kudos: 862
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019, Sweet and Gentle Steve/Bucky





	the one less traveled by

**Author's Note:**

> I can't seem to have any bingo fills under 10k but OH WELL, hopefully it's fun anyhow! The prompt for this one is "social media."
> 
> Many thanks to [Spacedog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacedog/pseuds/Spacedog) for the twitter conversations that got me thinking about Bucky having a beautiful glo-up over a decade. <3

When Bucky left Brooklyn, they were fifteen. Steve hadn't wanted to admit it to anyone, but he'd cried. They'd promised to keep in touch, they'd promised that nothing would change—but of course, it had. They'd gone from being in each other's pockets all day, every day, to being on other ends of the country. It wasn't the same; it couldn't be.

They wrote letters for a while, called each other every couple of months, and then it dwindled down to the occasional email. Steve let him know about Sarah's health scare, and then her recovery; Bucky told Steve when his grandfather—whose ill health was the reason that the Barneses had moved back to Indiana—eventually died.

But eventually, they mainly kept in touch through social media. They were Facebook friends for years, until Steve rage-quit Facebook for being a shit company; now, Steve follows Bucky on Twitter. He's watched as Bucky's illustration career took off, commenting whenever he noticed that he'd changed his icon to a new drawing. Steve thinks about him now and then, thinks about reaching out and getting in touch with him again more seriously, but somehow he never gets around to it.

Until one day he opens Twitter and sees that Bucky's tagged him and a couple of other folks they used to know in a tweet.

> James Barnes @jbb_art
> 
> Guess what, New York! I'm moving back. See you in a month!

Steve gives it a like, and sits back, feeling stunned. He doesn't know why he's suddenly so shook at the thought of seeing Bucky again, but he is. It's been eleven years—would they even be friends the way they used to be?

His heart swells a little in his chest. Bucky had been his very best friend for a decade, but they've been apart now much longer than they were together. They'd been kids, and now they were adults, and who knew if it would be the same?

But Steve is nothing if not impulsive, so he opens up a DM and tells Bucky he's happy he's moving back; Bucky responds that he'll be excited to see him and he can show him where all the good stuff is now; this leads to a quick chat about where he'll be looking for a place to live; and somehow, Steve is on the phone with him, hearing his voice for the first time in about a decade.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says when Bucky picks up, his heart beating unaccountably fast.

"Steve," Bucky says, and his voice is deeper, of course, but it's still his. That one word—his name—makes Steve feel like a kid again, brings whispered confidences and consolations to mind. Steve finds that he's smiling so hard his face aches.

"It's good to hear your voice," Steve says, and maybe it's a cliche thing to say, but he means it with every particle of his being.

"Yeah, you too." Bucky laughs. "So, how've you been?"

"Pretty good," Steve says. "Better now I know you're coming back."

"You sure you don't mind showing me around? I don't want to step on your toes. I know you've got your own thing going on."

Steve leans back, looks around the confines of his little apartment, the art on the walls, the secondhand furniture that he's slowly been replacing as he makes more money at Stark Industries. It's not that he doesn't have any friends—he does. He has wonderful friends that he loves very dearly. It's just that none of them has ever been Bucky. "There's always room for you in my thing."

Bucky ugly snorts a laugh, and Steve congratulates himself for expressing the world's least-sexy innuendo. "Thanks a lot, nerd, that means literally everything."

"You know, time changes people, I might not be a nerd anymore," Steve objects.

"Buddy, you work in product design, you're a nerd." Even over the phone, his voice is rich with laughter.

"Awww, you know what I do," Steve says, half-joking. He mentions his job on Twitter sometimes, but not that often, and he's honestly touched that Bucky noticed and remembered.

"Yeah, actually, we're going to be coworkers," Bucky says. He sounds a little hesitant, so Steve rushes in to reassure him.

"Really? That's great! You'll be working at Stark?"

"Yeah, I mean—not in the same department, obviously, but I'll be helping with the illustrations for the ad campaigns and stuff."

"That's fantastic, Bucky." Steve's brain quickly fills in a vision of them going to work together, riding the subway from his rent-controlled place in Brooklyn, the same one he'd lived in with his mother when Bucky had lived in New York before, to the SI building in Manhattan. It's a surprisingly specific and domestic vision that includes meals together and hanging out in their free time, and before Steve knows it, he hears himself say, "You know, I don't have a roommate right now, since Ma moved to Florida. You could take the second bedroom if you wanted."

Bucky is silent for a few seconds, a moment that stretches like honey in January, cold and slow, and hopefully sweet. "You mean it?" he finally says, and Steve lets out a breath in relief.

"Yeah," Steve says, "why not?" He chews his bottom lip. "I mean, I'd rather you live with me than some random, or pay too much for someplace shitty. And if you decide I'm a terrible roommate, you can always look for another place."

Bucky's laugh this time is a little breathless. "Hey, if you're sure, then I'm sure."

"We can ride into work together. It'll be fun." Steve worries that maybe he's coming on too strong, but he can't stop smiling. It's Bucky; it'll be great.

"I won't be there until the beginning of March, so you've got time to change your mind," Bucky says.

"Sure," Steve says easily, "but I won't."

After that, there are a lot of details to discuss, so they end up talking or texting most days. Some of it is logistics and details about their future cohabitation, but some of it is just shooting the shit, and Steve knows that he hasn't seen him in person yet and it might not be so easy when they’re both in the same place, but at least by way of text it feels like fitting puzzle pieces together, like snapping new batteries into place and making something that was dead for a while blink back to life.

Steve moves his summer clothes out of the closet and dresser in the second bedroom and clears the junk out from under the bed. It makes him feel warm in his chest to think of Bucky keeping his extra shoes or art supplies or whatever in that space.

He wants Bucky to feel at home in the common spaces too, so he rearranges his pantry and refrigerator far too far ahead of time to make room for another person, notes which prints he won't mind pulling down from the walls so that Bucky can put up what he likes—put up his own art, Steve hopes. What he's seen of it on Twitter is beautiful, elegant and playful in a way that feels natural to Bucky. Steve is excited to get to see more of it.

Bucky comes up towards the end of January. Steve goes to Penn Station to meet him; Bucky told him it wasn't necessary, and Steve knows it isn't, but he does it anyway. He waits on the platform, searching the crowds, until all of a sudden, he can see Bucky, standing on the platform with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a suitcase at his feet.

Bucky looks up exactly then, and their eyes meet, and Bucky looks different, and so does Steve, but somehow, they're still the same.

The crowds don't exactly part, but Steve sort of stops noticing that he weaves through other people—other people are only the tiniest of blips on the radar on the path from him to Bucky.

In that first rush of feeling, Steve almost doesn't note the differences between the Bucky he knew as a kid and the Bucky of now. It's just Bucky dropping his duffel bag onto the ground, and Steve wrapping him in his arms and Bucky's arms coming around him in return, the press of biceps to rib cages, the dig of fingers along spines. When they finally let each other go—not all the way; just enough to get a good look at each other—Steve's jaw drops because _holy shit,_ Bucky is _hot._

Bucky was always good looking, Steve remembers that much, but he'd been a little gangly, a little goofy with youth, his cheeks and chin rounded with baby fat, his arms and chest showing the promise of what he might grow into but still thin and sparse.

Not anymore.

Bucky is a bona fide brick shit house, the fat of his face melted away to reveal the elegant clean lines of nose and cheekbone, full lips, his blue eyes all the brighter for being deep set. His chest is ridiculously broad, his pecs so defined that Steve can see the curve of them through his T-shirt underneath his leather jacket. His thighs are long and lean, his hips narrow. He is, quite frankly, a wet dream come true. Steve's wet dream, specifically. Steve had had the kind of thoughts about Bucky that maybe most boys didn't have about their best friends when he was younger—and in fact, that had been a big part of his recognizing his bisexuality later on—but he'd thought he'd grown out of his childhood crush after so many years.

"Holy shit," Bucky says, his eyes roving over Steve's face. "You got big."

Steve barely stops himself from saying _You got beautiful._ "Thanks, pal, so did you," he says instead, and then he picks up Bucky's suitcase.

They ride the subway together back to Steve's place, ignoring the glares of other passengers at the suitcases, swaying into each other with the movement of the train, talking all the while about Bucky's trip (long and boring), how Steve likes working for SI (pretty well, actually,) Bucky's sisters (Becca's about to graduate college), and Steve's ma (somewhere on a beach in Florida, not missing New York winters.) The easy chemistry Steve remembers from their youth, that he felt over their texts and phone conversations, is still just as pleasant in person, only Steve has to try not to stare.

Not to sound conceited, but he knows he's made a dramatic physical transformation since the last time they saw each other. Steve had been small and scrawny in high school, and the late burst of growth that had shot him up over six feet had hit well after Bucky had moved to Indiana. Steve goes to the gym pretty often—okay, all the time—and he's maybe slightly ridiculously fit. He's worked for his muscles and he doesn't think it makes him vain that he likes the way he looks.

But Bucky...Bucky's just as solid if not more so, the muscle just packed on in a way that has Steve trying not to ogle his ass as he walks up the steps out of the subway station in front of him. It's not a long walk from the station to Steve's apartment, thankfully, and Steve doesn't try to see if Bucky remembers the way, just leads him down the street until they get there.

"Oh, wow," Bucky says once they're inside the apartment. He sets down his bag with a thump. "It's the same, but it's different."

Steve laughs, but he tries to look at the familiar room with fresh eyes, eyes that might only have blurry memories a decade old. He'd repainted after his mother moved out, and the walls are a soft gray that looks good with all the prints he put up. She took most of the furniture with her, and he'd replaced it with second-hand pieces, all he could afford at the time. He's been updating, but it looks a little worn and shabby—and completely different from how it'd been when they were kids. He shows Bucky the updates he's made to the kitchen, then leads him down the hall to the second bedroom—Steve’s old bedroom from when they were kids. It's different now, too; he's got a queen bed in it instead of the bunk beds that had been there when he was fifteen. He’d replaced the dresser that he'd covered with stickers from skate shops and music stores with a sturdier oak one that matches the bedside table. He'd painted the walls a soft blue.

There's a colorful braided rug on the floor, and a quilt on the bed that he'd bought at a craft fair a few years back. He'd wanted to make a nice guest room for when Sarah or his friends wanted to stay over, and now he desperately hopes that it's a place Bucky can see as home.

"Steve, this is great," Bucky says, taking it all in. He drops his bag on the floor, and Steve sets the suitcase next to it. Bucky goes straight to the closet and opens it right up, fingers running up the inside of the door frame. Steve knows exactly what he's looking for, and Steve smiles back at him helplessly when Bucky's face breaks into a wide grin as he finds it.

"It's still there," Bucky says—the initials that he'd carved into the wood with a pocket knife at a sleepover just before he left for Indiana. JBB with a splintery underline beneath it, and then SGR. They'd promised not to grow apart that night, and maybe they hadn't exactly lived up to it, but they were here now, and Steve told himself he wasn't going to miss this second chance to reconnect with his best friend.

"Yeah, There's no way I could sand that down when I redid the room." Steve shrugs, his face burning.

"You're a sap," Bucky accuses fondly.

Steve gives him a truly stupid set of finger guns and says, "Back atcha," because really, the first thing Bucky did was go look for it. Then he says, "I'll let you settle in," and backs out of the room so Bucky can unpack.

Then he goes into his room and he doesn't fall dramatically onto the bed and scream into his pillow, but it's a close thing. How is he going to function in the presence of this much hotness all the time? Maybe, he thinks, it will get less shocking over time. He'll build up a contact immunity to all that handsomeness and it won't even affect him anymore.

He can hope, anyway.

*

It doesn't really get easier.

On some levels, it's very easy. Their friendship falls back into place like they never spent time apart, catching up on the things they've done over the last decade, and going out and experiencing things together now. Steve never gets tired of talking to Bucky and Bucky doesn't seem to get bored of him, either. Steve hadn't thought that he missed living with someone, but he finds that he enjoys having Bucky to turn to at any given moment, making coffee when he gets up in the morning, a companion to the gym or the movies

It's not even weird that they work together. It's easy enough to get their hours to line up, and it's nice to commute together, even when they don't talk, but just sit next to each other reading on their phones

And maybe they’re in each other's pockets all the time at home, but it's not like they work in the same department at Stark Industries, so they do get a little bit of a break from each other. But then again, Steve's always happy to meet him in the lobby after work, and catch up as they walk to the subway station together.

But as easy and companionable as all their time together is, Steve just can't get over the fact that Bucky is stunningly fucking attractive. And he's hardly the only one who notices.

The first time Bucky goes with him to get together with his friends after work, Steve is excited to get these two parts of his life together, the old and the new. He knows he's mentioned Bucky, not just recently, when Bucky had said he was moving to New York and Steve invited him to move in, but for years—every time he's told stories about his childhood, Bucky has figured heavily in them.

It seems to be going really well. Everyone is talking and laughing, and he thinks Bucky likes his other friends and his friends like Bucky. Bucky excuses himself to go pick up another round from the bar, and as one, his friends turn to Steve.

"You never mentioned he was smoking hot," Natasha says.

"Hey," Clint says mildly, next to her.

"Come on, you have eyes," she says.

"Yeah, I'd do him given the chance if you said it was okay," he says. Natasha shrugs one shoulder.

Sam tips his beer back and says, "If Riley weren't waiting at home I'd ask him out now," and Wanda lifts a speculative eyebrow, and T'Challa, who Steve only just met and knows for a fact has a girlfriend, says, "His features are pleasingly symmetrical, it's true."

"Guys," Steve says loudly. "Please. Just...give him a chance to settle in, all right?"

None of them assent convincingly, but at least none of them, like, slip their numbers in Bucky's pockets and set up a booty call or anything, at least, not that Steve knows about.

He thinks Bucky would tell him, but maybe not. Bucky hasn't mentioned much about his dating life, beyond that he'd dated a few girls in Indiana. Steve doesn't even know if he swings even slightly his way.

Steve swings Bucky's way, though. Steve swings his way so hard the hinges have been knocked right off his doorframe. Bucky is a perfect, wonderful friend and roommate, and Steve wouldn't for all the world do anything to unbalance their friendship, but...

What they have is already so good, and it could be just as good _but with sex._

Steve's a problem solver. He needs to find out if there's any way that Bucky could be attracted to him without doing anything so gauche as asking him, because that could potentially be so awkward. Steve just needs to send out some feelers and see if Bucky seems to in any way pick up on them.

Fortunately for him, Steve went through a slutty stage in his early twenties that didn't so much end as he got too busy for it when he got hired at SI. He hasn't picked anyone up in a while, hasn't had sex in a while, to be honest, but he hadn't really missed it until he saw Bucky, and now he can't stop thinking about it. And if Bucky doesn't want him back, that'll be okay; at least he'll know, and then he can divert his energy toward something else.

He thinks he needs to start his campaign subtly; the problem is that Steve has never been particularly subtle. But he's spent enough time working on his body and he knows they he looks pretty good, so that's probably an all right place to start. He already knows that Bucky likes him, after all; the key here is to maybe get Bucky thinking about how else they could be together.

He starts off the next morning when he gets back from his run, having woken up with a mild hangover that exercise has flushed away.

He comes back, dripping with sweat beneath the coat that he removes and hangs in the hall closet, to find Bucky just making coffee. Instead of heading to his room, Steve pulls his shirt off over his head and wipes it over his glistening chest.

"Good run?" Bucky pulls down another mug, then hesitates. "Or would you rather have water?"

"A glass of water sounds great," Steve says. Bucky pours it and hands it to him wordlessly. "Thanks."

Steve tilts his head back and drinks, swallowing hard. It tastes good. His muscles are starting to cool, so he sets the glass down and stretches, pulling one foot back against his butt and then the other. It's nothing Bucky hasn't seen, nearly every day in fact, but Steve's never done it half naked before. He twists to release his spine, which incidentally also accentuates his narrow waist and shows off the swell of his pecs. He drinks the rest of his water, feeling slightly dumb but also hoping that Bucky has noticed, at least a little, but when he looks at him, Bucky is just stirring milk into his coffee. Steve sighs, but only internally. This is just the beginning of his campaign, and he has no intention of being discouraged yet.

"I'm going to hop in the shower," he tells Bucky, and now at least Bucky looks at him.

It's February, and it's really too cold to be standing around without a shirt, in their apartment or not. Steve's sure that his nipples are hard enough to cut glass, and he's getting goosebumps. It's definitely time to beat a retreat, and he's not sure if he accomplished anything. As he throws his shirt over his shoulder and walks toward the bathroom, he can't help glancing back as he does, and he catches Bucky watching him. Looking at his ass? God, he hopes so.

*

Steve is forced to admit that it's really too cold for these kinds of stupid shenanigans, but that doesn't stop him from "forgetting" his clothes in his room and having to wear only a towel from the bathroom to his room—not that Bucky notices that he can tell. He digs in his closet and finds his thinnest, tightest shirts, the jeans that hang loose off his hips. None of it seems to really draw Bucky's eye. Bucky himself continues to look like a delectable side of beef, even when he's wearing sweatpants, and Steve is embarrassed at how constantly, regrettably horny he is. But he has no interest in anyone but his roommate. It's pitiful.

Before Steve knows it, it's the week of Valentine's Day, and Steve, unfortunately for him, has worked himself into a tizzy over his ridiculous, un-reciprocated crush. He works up the nerve a couple of days before to say, "Hey Buck, if you're not doing anything for Valentine's Day, want to grab a movie?"

"Can't," Bucky says lightly. "I've got a date."

"Oh," Steve says. Suddenly he's struggling to keep his expression and voice casual, when it feels like his stomach has just dropped into a pit. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone." He'll admit that he's a little hurt; he'd have thought that Bucky would have told him that he was dating someone.

"I'm not," Bucky says cheerfully. "It's a blind date."

"A blind date on Valentine's Day?" Steve forces a smile. "Isn't that a lot of pressure?"

"We'll see, I guess," Bucky says. "I'll take a rain check on that movie, though."

"Sure thing, pal."

Steve takes his suddenly terrible mood outside of the apartment. Bucky has done nothing to deserve it, and he decides to cheer himself up with a little retail therapy. If he's devastated by the fact that Bucky is seeing other people, he only has his own self to blame; his attempts to get Bucky's attention are ridiculous on the face of it—the man has known Steve since he was a child, so he probably doesn't see him that way, and anyway Steve still doesn't even know if Bucky is anything other than straight. Since Steve has been shivering for weeks trying to look like a sexy person, he gets the cabled knit sweater that he's been eyeing for months. If nothing else, he'll be warm.

He decides to wear it for his pity party on Valentine's Day. He thought about taking himself out to dinner somewhere, but naturally everyplace is booked and probably has been for months.. Instead, he gets Thai delivered and settles in to watch cartoons and stuff his face and try not to get too far up his own ass about how Bucky only sees him as a friend. There should be no only! He knows that he is damn lucky to have that friendship.

He's deep in his feelings about Catra and Adora instead when he hears a key in the lock.

Bucky comes in, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," Steve says, around what he's sure is a thrillingly attractive mouthful of curried chicken.

Bucky throws his hands in the air. "He didn't show! On Valentine's Day!"

"What an asshole," Steve agrees, heart suddenly marching double time. He! Bucky is into _guys,_ even if he has shown no signs as of yet of being into _Steve._ "I've got plenty of food if you want to share."

"Thanks, I'll take you up on that." Bucky shrugs out of his coat and kicks off his shoes, and Steve nearly bites his own tongue off. Bucky'd had his jacket on when he left, so Steve hadn't gotten a good look at what he was wearing and it is now being assaulted in the eyeballs with a tight button-down shirt that is doing it's best to cross his chest in a blue that makes his eyes look somehow even more intensely blue than usual and a narrow black tie. Bucky's hair is still combed back just so even after however far he walked there and back to his date, to whom Steve is eternally grateful for not showing up. Steve suddenly feels underdressed in his sweater and the old jeans with the holes in the knees. Also, he probably has curry on his face.

Bucky gets a plate and settles next to Steve on the couch and helps himself to the food. "Hey, is that a new sweater?"

"Yeah, I just got it." Steve runs the hand not holding a fork over his own chest to demonstrate that the sweater is very soft and comfy and immediately feels like an idiot. "It was my Valentine's present to myself."

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt your date with your sweater. The two of you look very cozy." He takes a bite and closes his eyes to moan in bliss. Steve tries to bite his tongue on whatever stupid thing is trying to make its way out of his mouth. "I'm starving. Thanks for sharing."

"Looks like I got my Valentine's date with you after all," Steve says. Fuck it. The subtly slutty approach clearly isn't working; he might as well shoot his shot. "If your date was dumb enough to blow you off, I'm glad you came home to me."

Bucky laughs a little, clearly not thinking that Steve might be serious. He's so handsome, his striking looks not even slightly marred by the red sauce at the corner of his lips. "I'm glad I've got you to come home to, pal."

Steve can't help himself, he reaches out and wipes away the sauce with his thumb. Bucky inhales sharply and his eyes go wide when he does; Steve immediately thinks he's an idiot and an asshole for not warning Bucky that he was going to do it. "You had something on your face," he mumbles. His thumb tingles where he touched him, the skin soft and warm beneath his touch.

Bucky's expression relaxes into his usual easy grin. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Steve wants to tell him that he will take care of him any way he wants, that he wants nothing more than to take care of him; but instead, he leans into him with his shoulder, then leans back away so they're not touching any more, and digs back into his food. Bucky doesn't even say anything as he queues up _She-Ra_ again, but during one of the episodes, Steve catches him looking at him, and when their eyes meet, Bucky smiles.

Steve is completely fucked.

*

In the cold morning light of February 15th, Steve decides that his impulse the night before wasn't wrong. It didn't work, fine, but Steve will try again to actually _tell_ Bucky that he wants to touch their bodies together in a grown up sexytimes way, although he most certainly should not phrase it that way. He'll be as clear as he possibly can that their friendship is the most important thing to him, and then Bucky can either think about the possibility of adding sex to their mix, or he can strike it down, and either way, Steve will be fine with it. Because he _will_ be fine with it—Bucky can say yes or say no, and either way is fine, really fine with Steve, as long as he knows where they stand.

He's hoping for one, let's not be mistaken, but if the answer is no, he's a grown-ass adult, and that's all right too.

He creaks himself out of bed and doesn't go for his run. Instead, he starts the coffee for once, and goes rummaging through the refrigerator to see what they have. He notes that they're low on a lot of things, but there's eggs and bacon and a potato that he immediately starts dicing into squares.

By the time Bucky shows his face, the coffee is good to go and the food is nearly ready.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says fondly, and Bucky squints at him on his way to the bathroom. It's regrettably attractive, but Steve tells himself to chill.

Bucky looks much more awake when he emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, clean and changed and looking pleased but surprised at the breakfast Steve is putting together.

"You want your eggs over easy?" Steve asks, even though he's pretty sure the answer is yes. Bucky loves to break open the eggs and stir all his food together. It's disgusting and Steve's not sure why he finds it so cute that Bucky does it.

"Sounds good," Bucky says. "You're up and moving early."

"Yeah." Steve smiles at him. "I couldn't not make you breakfast after our Valentine's Day date last night."

"Well, I appreciate it," Bucky says. Then his eyes narrow and he looks suspicious. "Are you buttering me up for something?"

Steve laughs because he looks adorably grumpy. "I don't know what it says about me that doing something literally basement level nice is me buttering you up."

Then the eggs are ready and Steve is busy serving their plates, ready to watch Bucky make a disgusting mess of his, which he does, as predicted. Steve eats his breakfast foods separately, as God and man intended.

Bucky helps him clean up the plates when they're done, the two of them making short work of washing and drying them. When they're done, it's time to get ready to go to work, and they're mostly just exchanging their usual dumb banter.

"You looked real nice last night," Steve says; it's not a platonic roommate kind of thing to say.

"Yeah?" Bucky raises an eyebrow. "So did you. That sweater looks good on you." It might be Steve's imagination, but he thinks he sees a faint flush along Bucky's cheekbones.

"Yeah, the sweater and I enjoyed our special time together. So I was thinking, if you're free this weekend, maybe I could cash in that rain check for a movie." Steve gives him a hopeful smile.

"I'd like that," Bucky says, and then there at the subway station, and the rest of their conversation is about nothing much at all but Steve feels happy that they've made plans. Maybe before the weekend he'll figure out a good way to let Bucky know that he means it as a date.

*

"So… Let me just be sure that I'm clear on this," Natasha says over frothy latte in the break room. She's wearing a fuzzy sweater that's giving her kind of a halo of red yarn that Steve doesn't know if he wants to pet her shoulder or take a shaver to all those little loose threads. "You spent Valentine's Day with him after he got stood up on his date—"

"His date with a guy," Steve interjects.

"You're a disaster, Rogers," Sam says fondly, or at least Steve hopes it's fondly and not mostly exasperated.

"You spent Valentine's Day with him," Natasha continues, "and then you made him breakfast, and then you asked him out, but you weren't clear that you want it to be a romantic date. Does that sound about right?"

"What other kinds of dates do people ask each other on?" Steve questions loudly.

"Oh, Steve," Sam says. "People have all kinds of dates—friends dates, family dates… Have you never heard someone say _it's a date?_ "

"I think I've been pretty obvious," Steve says. "I mean, I haven't said _I would like us to make this relationship sexual,_ but I probably implied it."

"Probably implied it by, to be clear, dressing a little sluttier than usual and sharing your take out with him on Valentine's Day." Natasha sucks down a huge, judgmental slurp of her latte.

"Maybe you should consider being a little more forthright," Sam says. "I mean, definitely say it better than you said it just there, because I know you can do better than that, but just be very clear to him that you want to date him romantically."

Steve has to take several deep breaths because the concept of saying this Bucky has him breathing shallowly, but... "Yeah," Steve says slowly. "You're right. I need to be extremely clear."

*

The movie they're going to see is an extremely dumb space epic, which is exactly the kind of thing Bucky likes, and Steve likes because Bucky is into. There are going to be pew pew shooting sounds and big space explosions and spaceships as far as the eye can see.

Bucky said he liked Steve's sweater, so Steve goes out and buys another one, also with cables that accentuate his chest, and in a blue that he hopes will bring out his eyes. He still hasn't exactly found the opportunity to talk to Bucky openly and honestly, but he figures he can do that on their date—just to be sure that both of them know that it's a _date_ date.

There going to an earlier showing so they can grab dinner afterwards and talk about the explosions, so they both leave work a little early. On the subway ride home they both mostly talk about work and the movie and where they might go afterwards to grab something to eat. When they get home, Steve hastily changes clothes and fixes his hair and sprays on just a hint of cologne. When he comes out, Bucky has also changed and is wearing a tight green shirt and a touch of—eyeliner? Steve can't quite be sure, but his eyes are definitely ringed in a darker color, the blue popping out intensely, and Steve wants to be right. He wants Bucky to have gone to an extra step to look good for him.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair and tries to smooth it back, and Steve steps forward and rearranges the lock that Bucky just disordered, his pulse kicking up in this throat. Bucky's hair is very soft, and Steve realizes it would be weird to just dig his fingers into that hair, but he wants to. Instead, he makes himself pull his hand away and says, "You look good, Buck."

Bucky clears his throat. "Thanks, pal. So do you. New sweater?"

"Yeah, just got it." Steve can feel his own dumb face blushing, but there's nothing to be done about that. He doesn't have to tell Bucky that he got it for him, because he wanted to look good for him. That little piece of information can just remain locked in his head forever. "You ready?"

"Sure," Bucky says, and they leave the apartment side by side. They have to rush a little bit to get to the theater on time, and Steve decides that frantically trying to navigate the crowds on the Culver Line and on the sidewalks is not the best time for a heart to heart, but he thinks about it.

He thinks about it as their bodies bump together, elbows knocking while they walk. He thinks about it as they sit in the darkened theater and the first spaceship crossed the screen. He thinks about it as their fingers brush when they reach for the popcorn at the same time. He watches the movie with half his brain, at best, because the rest of him is engaged with thinking about Bucky.

Bucky doesn't seem to be having the same problem. He's as enraptured by the spacescapes and cgi aliens as ever anyone was, and by the time the movie's over, he's bubbling over with excitement about it that Steve can only happily drink in.

They go to a sushi place where they can stuff themselves silly and keep talking over a few beers. Bucky is happy to discuss everything he loved about the movie as well as the few things he didn't enjoy, and Steve is more than content to listen. When Bucky is excited, his face lights up; his eyes are bright with enthusiasm, his smile moves not only his mouth and cheeks, but the skin around his eyes. His eyebrows are mobile, jolting up and down with every thought he expresses, and Steve is entranced by all it. Steve thinks that never in the history of humanity has anyone ever wanted to kiss another person quite so badly as he wants to kiss Bucky.

It's absolutely perfect, or at least, almost perfect. Steve admits that it would be better if he knew that Bucky wanted that kiss as badly as he does. So when a lull in the space-related conversation comes up, after they've finished their food and Steve's paid the bill and they're just drinking the rest of their beers, Steve leans forward.

"I had a really good time tonight," Steve says.

Bucky smiles easily and leans back, so carelessly handsome that Steve wants to screech a little bit. "Me too, Steve. But I always have a good time with you."

"Yeah, same." Steve takes a deep breath and gathers his courage. "So I'm hoping you'll want me to take you out again sometime."

"Sure, Steve. Anytime." Bucky points a smile in his direction. "I like dinner and a movie as much as the next guy."

"Yeah," Steve says slowly. "We could to dinner and movie again for sure, or we could do just a dinner date, or whatever. Whatever you want."

Bucky smile gets a little strained around the edges; Steve's not sure why. "It's a date."

That weird little moment of stress seems to fade away as they walk home, talking companionably. Steve's still not sure if he got his point across, and he's not sure what the etiquette is for dating your roommate anyway. Does he give him a good night kiss at the door…to his room? At the door to their apartment—and then walk in with him? It seems like there's so much potential for awkwardness. At least the walk of shame would be conducted in the privacy of their own home, although he realizes that he's getting way ahead of himself right now.

The streets are less crowded than they were earlier, although there are still plenty of people around. The air is cold, and Steve's hands are jammed deep in his coat pocket, and Bucky's breath is fogging the air as he talks, and Steve still feels terribly uncertain, but also terribly happy.

They make it home, and take the steps up to their apartment. Steve fumbles with the keys because his fingers are cold, but he does manage to get it unlocked eventually, and then he holds the door open for Bucky to walk through first.

"Thanks for a nice night, Steve," Bucky says softly as he takes his coat off. Steve fumbles out of his coat, too, wondering if he should try for a kiss, or keep trying to tell Bucky that’s he’s serious, that he wants him.

"It was really nice, wasn't it?" Steve hangs his coat in the hall closet and turns back around.

Bucky's shirt is straining over his chest muscles, and he looks touchably soft as well as ridiculously attractive. "You looking for me to stroke your ego, Rogers?"

"It's not my ego I want you to stroke," Steve says and then immediately wants to die in abject horror at the words that his brain allowed to come out of his mouth. These are not the words of a man who wants to tenderly woo his best friend. These are the words of some horrible jackass in a bar, a cheesy pickup line that Steve is completely embarrassed made it out of his brain into the world.

Bucky, however, bursts out laughing. "Good one, Steve." He shoots Steve the same stupid finger guns that he himself has shot at Bucky more than once now and goes down the hall, leaving Steve with whiplash of the heart.

On the one hand, it's good that Bucky wasn't offended by the dumbassery that Steve said, but on the other, Bucky is so far from seeing Steve as a potential sexual partner that the world's clumsiest innuendo—not even the first one that Steve has made!—landed as a joke.

Steve has some thinking to do.

*

But it turns out he can't do much of it immediately, because Stark Industries is ramping up to unveil a campaign for their next smartwatch, and both of them are completely swamped at work. They're there late nearly every day for weeks, eating frozen dinners or take out when they get home. They fall asleep on the couch watching a show more than once, and Steve's heart gives a truly unfortunate pitter-patter when he wakes up with Bucky's head resting against his shoulder.

They're so swamped, in fact, that one Sunday, Steve suddenly realizes that Bucky's birthday is mere days away. They're trying to catch up with a few weeks' worth of laundry because the SI dress code is pretty relaxed but Steve's down to sweatpants and t-shirts with holes in them, and it's not _that_ relaxed. Bucky is also preparing some meals for the week ahead because if they keep eating takeout and frozen pizzas, their blood is going to be composed of ninety percent sodium.

"Hey," Steve says as he's folding shirts. "Your birthday's Tuesday."

Bucky grimaces. "Yeah, I guess it is."

This, Steve feels, is insufficient birthday enthusiasm. "Come on, Buck, we've got to do something to celebrate."

"I don't know. I don't really want to do anything in the middle of the week, as crazy as work has been." Bucky chops a potato with perhaps unnecessary force.

"Let me take you out on Friday, then. That can be your unofficial birthday this year. What do you want to do? I can ask a bunch of people to join us, or we can go somewhere just the two of us. Whatever you want."

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, perhaps thinking. An almost wistful expression crosses his face, and then he opens his eyes again. "How about just the two of us? Like—like last time."

Steve's heart thumps hard in his chest. "You want dinner and a movie? I can do that."

"How about just dinner? Maybe someplace nicer than usual? And we can pinky swear not to talk about work." Bucky catches his lower lip between his teeth and chews for a second, leaving it bitten red.

"That sounds about perfect, Buck." Steve promises himself that he will talk to Bucky at dinner, take the opportunity of the two of them in a romantic setting to really lay out how he feels. He will word it in such a way that Bucky cannot possibly misinterpret it, he tells himself.

The week flies by. They do get a quick drink with some of their friends after work on Bucky's actual birthday, but everyone's so busy, they have to keep it quick. Still, it's fun, and Steve's so glad Bucky clicks that well with all of his other friends.

"Soooooo," Natasha says, when they happen to end up at the bar ordering drinks for their friends together.

"Thanks for coming out tonight, it means a lot," Steve says hastily but as sincerely as he can in an attempt to deflect her laser-focus from himself. It's not successful.

"So did you ask out Bucky?" she says expectantly while they wait for the bartender to notice them.

"Sort of," Steve says. "I mean yes. I mean," he adds, under her gimlet stare, "there have been a few miscommunications along the way."

She drives a loving but very sharp elbow into his side. He winces. "You're an idiot. Get your shit together, Rogers."

"Good talk," he says wryly as the bartender comes to take their orders. Natasha rolls her eyes at him, and they end up ferrying drinks back to the banquette more than actually talking, but Steve at least knows that her shit-giving was kindly meant.

They only stay for a couple of drinks, but Bucky is loose and happy on the way home, bumping into Steve and laughing. Steve bumps into him back, a little buzzed himself, and the two of them giggle like idiots.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur of work-related semi emergencies, and Steve will be _thrilled_ when the new products are actually ready to launch, but at the moment, he's overwhelmed and honestly sick of looking at them and testing them endlessly ad nauseum. So when Friday rolls around, he's thrilled for a lot of reasons.

When they get home from work, they go their separate ways to get changed, and Steve makes sure he looks good, in a button-down shirt that's maybe a little tighter than the ones he wears to work, a touch of gel in his hair. He wants to look like someone Bucky could date, regardless of the fact that Bucky has seen him dressed in sweatpants and a holey NASA t-shirt only just this week.

When he comes out, Bucky looks amazing, of course; but then he always does. He's wearing a gray striped sweater that looks eminently touchable, clinging to every curve of his muscles. Steve wants to kiss him so badly, but instead he just says, "Ready?" and holds the door for him as they leave.

The restaurant where Steve made the reservations is a tapas place, a little nicer and pricier than the places they usually go, but it's Bucky's birthday and even if he weren't going to make his big romantic declaration, he'd still want to take him somewhere nice.

He wonders briefly if maybe he shouldn't bring it up, if he should just let Bucky celebrate his birthday, because if it all goes sideways, it's going to be so awkward, but then again...it's Bucky. Even if Steve's feelings aren't reciprocated, the two of them will be okay. there might be an awkward day or two, but then they'll be fine, Steve bets. And he'll know that it's a no, and he'll be able to get over his terrible, thirsty feelings for his roommate.

He hopes anyway. He supposes it's possible that Bucky will be so repulsed by Steve's feelings that he never wants to see him again, which would be a terrible thing in a roommate, but Steve doesn't think that will happen. Bucky's too kind for that, even if he doesn't see Steve that way.

Dinner is delicious. They get different glasses of wine with different courses: different tacos, shredded pork arepitas, yuca balls, lemon shrimp on skewers. All the while they talk about everything except work, as promised, and it's nice to let the stress of it fall to the wayside for the course of a few hours. By the time the meal is over, they're both stuffed, but it's Bucky's birthday and Steve won't hear of him not having dessert, so they split an order of churros, their fingers sticky with sugar and cinnamon.

"Thanks, Steve," Bucky says as they're finishing up. He's flushed and looks full and happy. "This was great."

"It's my pleasure," Steve says. "I always like spending time with you." He's not sure in the dim lighting, but Bucky might be blushing a little harder. Steve takes a breath; it's time. Surely, it's time. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure," Bucky says easily. "Anything you want."

"You know how we keep saying it's a date when we say we're going to go somewhere?" Steve smiles at Bucky, but Bucky's face has gone expressionless. Steve soldiers on anyway. "I'd, um. I want it to be real. I want it to be a date."

"Steve." Bucky sets the last piece of churro down and pushes it away like he just lost his appetite. Steve's heart sinks to somewhere about the vicinity of his kidneys. "I wish you wouldn't fuck with me like that."

Steve has to clear his throat. "I'm not fucking with you, Buck. I wouldn't."

"I—but... why would you even?" Bucky frowns, waving his hand between them.

Steve feels his jaw drop. He didn't think that happened outside of books and maybe cartoons, but there it is, his jaw gaping open like a stunned fish. "What do you mean?"

"You have to know how you look," Bucky says, staring intently at the plate between them rather than at Steve. "I know I'm not—"

"Bucky," Steve breathes. As if he's watching outside himself, he sees his hand reach out and cup Bucky's chin, not pressing him up, not forcing it at all, but waiting until Bucky looks up and meets his eyes. His eyes are so blue, and Steve just wants to kiss away the hurt he sees in them. "You're the most beautiful person that I've ever seen, and you would be even if you didn't look as amazing as you do. I just—we work so well as friends, and I can't stop thinking about how great we might be in a relationship."

Bucky tilts his head and Steve lets his hand fall away. As much as he wants to keep touching him, he's waiting on an answer now.

"Do you really mean it?" Bucky says.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Honestly, maybe I haven't been as obvious as I think i was, but I was trying to be pretty clear."

"Steve, what are you saying?" Bucky laughs. "I come back, and you've turns into this…giant, and you're so hot, do you even know what you look like? I can't imagine that you’d want me."

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. "That's…I've been trying so hard to get you to notice me as more than a friend. I've been trying to ask you out on a date for a while now, and I could never seem to get you to take me seriously."

"Yeah, I thought you were kidding." Bucky's face is flushed darker, but he doesn't look like he thinks that anymore, so Steve takes that as a win. But he wants to be sure that Bucky knows how serious he is.

"Bucky, I had a crush on you when we were kids, and I thought I'd grown out of it, but instead, I feel even more connected to you now than I did then. I'd want to date you and would even if I didn't find you smoking hot, but I do. If it's not something you want, that's fine—we'll be friends regardless. I'll always be your friend." Steve reaches across the table and takes his hand, and Bucky lets him.

"Yeah, you will," Bucky says hoarsely. "I want to date you too. Let's try it."

Steve doesn't think he's ever felt this elated. He's giddy. He is, in fact, over the moon. He leans across the table, Bucky's hand still clasped in his, and kisses him. It's soft and gentle and tastes of cinnamon, and Steve wants to move into this moment and live in it.

Someone clears a throat off to the side, and they break apart guiltily, even though it was a closed-mouthed kiss and more tender than heated. Their waiter is back with the bill, which Steve takes over a token protest from Bucky—"It's your birthday, Buck, and anyway I asked you on this date."—and the waiter's utter boredom with their antics.

Steve doesn't care, though; he's ecstatically happy, and he and Bucky walk home hand in hand, fingers twined. They keep shooting each other shy, happy glances, and catching each other at it. Steve doesn't mind at all.

When they get back to the apartment, Steve opens the door for Bucky and presses his hand to the small of his back as Bucky walks in ahead of him. They both hang up their jackets and take off their shoes and then are left looking sort of awkwardly at each other.

"Okay, this part's a little weird," Steve admits, and Bucky laughs.

"It's just different," Bucky says. "What if we go sit on the couch and you kiss me again?"

That's a plan that Steve can get behind, and they end up sitting on the couch like it's any other night, but it's _not_ in fact like any other night because they sit closer than usual just to start with, but then Steve threads his fingers through Bucky's curls and leans in to kiss him, because Bucky asked him to.

He starts gentle, slow, like in the restaurant, but they're not in a restaurant and there's no audience, so when Bucky opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Steve follows his lead. Bucky's lips are soft against his, his stubble a little scratchy, and Steve slides his hand around his wide, solid side, and is suddenly aching and desperate because Bucky shivers under his touch, and Steve wants to make him shiver again, feel him fall apart.

He pulls back just enough to press kisses to the side of Bucky's face, to the corner of his jaw.

"I don't want to rush anything," Steve says into Bucky's neck, even though his body vehemently disagrees. "We can take it slow."

Bucky pulls back to look at him, smiling. "Steve." Bucky laughs. "You've never wanted to take a damn thing slow in your life."

Steve can feel his face heat, so he buries it in Bucky's shoulder. "Yeah, but I don't want to fuck this up."

Bucky frames Steve's face with his hands, and tilts it up so he can look at him. He still smiling, and the skin around his eyes is creased with laughter. "You can't tell me you want to get together, and then immediately put the brakes on. It's my birthday."

Steve's heart letters in his chest. "So what do you want for your birthday?"

"How about you kissing me again, and not worrying so much?"

Steve does exactly that. He lets himself get lost in the feeling of kissing Bucky, and their hands roaming over each other. Bucky is solid and warm, and he's so responsive wherever Steve touches him, leaning into his touch.

Steve's hard—Steve's been hard—but it's not as important as the sounds Bucky's making, the whispering, soft, barely there breaths and gasps. Steve skates a thumb lightly over his nipple, and Bucky groans, the first fully voiced sound that either one of them has made in the last several minutes. Steve does it again, and the sound Bucky makes is urgent, and suddenly all Steve feels is urgency too.

He slides his hands under Bucky's shirt, where the skin is smooth and warm, and his muscles flex beneath Steve's fingertips. Steve explores the feel of him, mapping out the body he's only seen in glimpses. Bucky sucks Steve's bottom lip into his mouth, and his hands under Steve's shirt at the same time, and Steve suddenly wants them to be touching everywhere, skin to skin all over.

But despite what Bucky said, he doesn't want to rush anything, so he just lets his hands fall to Bucky's lower back, right where the swell of his ass is a gentle curve. He's as solid there as he is everywhere else. Steve tugs him a little closer on the couch.

"You've got on too many clothes," Bucky murmurs in his ear. "And so do I."

"What if I invited you back to my bedroom?" Steve says.

"I'd say yes," Bucky replies.

Steve knows that he is smiling like a complete lovestruck fool, but he has no intention of stopping anytime soon. He stands up, and pulls Bucky to his feet after him, and they laugh and hold hands as they cross the apartment. It's not like it's that far of a distance, and it's not like they don't both know the way, but it feels significant. It feels like neither one of them wants to let go of each other for even five minutes.

Steve didn't really make the bed that morning, just pulled the sheet and quilt up over the mattress kind of sloppily. A few shirts that he tried on and then rejected are strewn over the chair in the corner. It's a bit of a mess, but Bucky seen his mess before, so it won't come as a big surprise.

Bucky's kissing him again before they’re more than two steps inside the room, pressing against Steve like he wants to vacuum seal himself there. At this angle, Steve can feel that Bucky is just as hard as he is, which is frankly a relief. He would feel like an idiot if this surge of desire were his alone. Bucky kisses him hungrily, walking him backward toward the bed, his hands moving up and down Steve's back. Steve stops when the back of his leg hits the mattress. Bucky pulls back just far enough to grin at him a little wickedly, and then he gives Steve a gentle shove. Steve lets it move him, falling back against the mattress. He props himself up on his elbows, and grins up at Bucky. Bucky straddles him, and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Steve is gratified to see that his fingers are shaking a little.

In short order, Bucky has exposed Steve's chest, and is tugging at his shirt. Steve shrugs one arm and then the other out of the sleeves, and Bucky tosses the shirt off somewhere to the side. Bucky puts his hands on Steve's shoulders, and then rubs them down over Steve's pecs and the soft skin of his belly. His expression is almost avaricious.

"Does it make me sound shallow if I tell you how much I've been wanting to touch you? Your fucking chest has been killing me." Bucku gives said chest a little squeeze, and Steve arches his back to meet his touch.

"Oh, thank God," Steve says. "I've been trying to get you to notice me with my shirt off forever."

Bucky laughs breathlessly. "Is that why you took your shirt off after your workout? In February?"

Steve groans and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. "I never said it was a good plan." He tugs at the hem of Bucky's sweater.

Bucky gets the memo and tugs it over his head, and Steve is left to admire the broad expanse of Bucky's chest. He's so fucking thick, and Steve would want him if he weren't, but he's just real damn easy on the eyes, okay?

Turns out he's real damn easy to touch, too. Steve hooks his fingers in the waistband of Bucky's pants, teasing, and then flattens his hands over the ridges of Bucky's abdominal muscles and slides them up. He already knows from making out on the couch that Bucky's nipples are sensitive, but it's even better to touch them with no fabric between their skin. He rolls both thumbs over Bucky's nipples, and watches the flush that starts in his face travel down his chest.

"Steve—" Bucky doesn't seem to have anything else to say, or else he loses his train of thought. Either way, Steve's delighted at his reaction. He wraps his fingers around Bucky's biceps and pulls him down so that he can kiss him again. It feels amazing to just press against each other, arms holding each other tight, the skin of Steve's torso flush with Bucky's. They make out on the bed like teenagers—not that Steve had done a ton of this when he was an actual teenager, between his constant awkward fightiness and his confused queer feelings, though he made up for it in college—just enjoying the feel of body against body, without a specific destination in mind.

Steve rolls them over so that Bucky's not on top anymore, and the two of them lie face to face on their sides. He wants to touch Bucky, wants to run his hands all over him, so he does just that. He traces his spine, his ribs; feels Bucky's stomach tense beneath his hand. He slides his fingers over the sparse hair between his navel and his fly; fumbles with the button, and then pauses, breathing hard against Bucky's jaw.

"You gotta tell me if this is okay," Steve says. He wants to pull Bucky closer, wants to kiss him stupid—wants to do everything, anything that Bucky wants.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky says softly. He splays his own hand over Steve's hesitant touch, encouraging him, and Steve doesn't have it in him to deny either of them. He slides his hand down, strokes Bucky's cock, beneath his pants but over his underwear. Bucky groans at the touch, and arches his hips up. The angle is a little awkward, and Steve doesn't have the best range of motion with Bucky's pants still on, but he doesn't let that keep him from learning the shape of him. He's hard, and big, blood-warm, and even through the fabric Steve can feel that he's wet at the tip. Suddenly he can't stand the thought of not touching him on his bare skin so he withdraws his hand—Bucky makes a small, regretful sound—but only long enough to pull his pants and boxer briefs down over his hips.

Now Bucky’s mostly naked, sprawled out on the bed before him, and Steve has never seen anything so beautiful. He's flushed and wanton, his dick hard, wet with precome. Steve himself is hard and aching, but he does no more than push the heel of his hand over his dick for a moment before he crawls over Bucky's muscular thighs.

His pants are still around his knees, and Bucky can't really spread his legs, but he moves them apart as far as he can, and Steve sets one hand on his hip and one on the bed as he dips down to get his mouth on him.

The taste is salty and a little bitter. Steve loves it, loves the sound that Bucky makes when he gets his lips around him and his tongue flat beneath the head of his cock. He reaches up to get his hands on Bucky's massive chest, rubs his nipples. Bucky threads his fingers through Steve's hair, not pushing his head, but tugging gently. Steve likes it. He thinks he'd like any way that Bucky wants to touch him. He settles into a rhythm, listening carefully for Bucky's every reaction, adjusting his angle and speed to what Bucky seems to like.

His own cock is aching, desperate for friction, and Steve has to reach down and squeeze for a moment just to relieve the pressure. He wants to stroke himself but he doesn't want stop touching Bucky with his free hand, so he doesn't. He sucks and licks, trying to make it as good for Bucky as he possibly can, slowing down when it seems like Bucky might be getting close, only to speed up again when he's backed him away from the edge.

Steve doesn't know how long he spends sucking Bucky's dick, only that he's trying to draw it out, that he could keep going when Bucky reaches down to pull him up. Steve lets go of him only reluctantly, but lets himself be drawn up face to face.

Bucky kisses him frantically, desperately, and his fingers are shaking on the fly of Steve. Steve's pants. Steve helps him, shoving his pants off roughly. He so turned on he doesn't think he'll last at all, but that's all right.

Bucky slings a leg over him and tugs him closer, lining up their hips. They get their hands on each other, and Bucky murmurs, "Oh God, Steve, that felt so good, but I wanted to kiss you," and then he does, tongue sliding past Steve's lips, breathing each other's breath, hands rubbing along each other's dicks.

Bucky rolls Steve over so that he's on top, all that wonderful bulk pressing down on Steve. Bucky lines them up, and Steve sees what he wants—their cocks lined up with each other's hips and stomachs so they can rut against each other almost like they're fucking—and Steve approves, he's on board for anything Bucky wants any day, not just Bucky's birthday.

He detaches himself long enough to fish the lube out of his bedside drawer. Bucky makes a sad noise at first as he pulls away, but gets on board pretty quick when he sees what Steve comes back with. Steve pours some into his hand and lets it warm as he and Bucky kiss a little more, slow and languid, and then Steve gets his hand around both of their cocks and gets them wet, then wipes his slick hand over both of their abdomens. Bucky kisses him through all of it, gasping and moaning into his mouth, and Steve feels wild with it, aching with desire in a way he didn't know he was capable of.

Finally they get lined up the way Bucky intended, and Steve's cock is sliding along Bucky's Adonis belt, and _Bucky's_ cock is slipping over Steve's stomach, everything slick and messy with lube, and it feels so good, it feels _perfect._ Bucky rocks into him, and his face is twisted up with feeling, an expression that's halfway fierce and halfway joyous, and Steve certainly doesn't have any idea what the hell his own face is doing, and he couldn't care less. He's right on the edge of his climax already, orgasm hovering just over the edge of this place that Bucky's brought them, and then Bucky rocks forward a few more times. Steve makes a noise like he just took a punch to the gut, but it's not pain he feels but ecstasy, and then he's saying Bucky's name as he spills onto his skin, his entire body wracked with pleasure. He loses his rhythm, but it's all right, because Bucky is still going, sliding through not only lube but Steve's come as well, and Bucky's fingers tighten on his biceps and his mouth crashes into Steve's again, and then Bucky's coming too.

Steve hold him through it, kisses whatever part of his face is closest at any given moment. It doesn't take too long before they're clinging to each other, breathing slowing. Steve pulls Bucky onto his chest.

"Take it slow," Bucky says hoarsely. "You complete dumbass." He presses a kiss to the side of Steve's neck.

Steve pulls him closer and rubs his chin over the top of Bucky's head. It's probably annoying. "I didn't want to rush you."

"Tell you what," Bucky says. He looks up and catches Steve's eye, and he looks so terribly fond that Steve's heart maybe stops for a second longer than it ought to. "Why don't we both rush ourselves to the shower and get cleaned up? And then if you want, you can sleep with me."

"Bucky," Steve says, and all of a sudden that's all he can say.

"I mean, if you want," Bucky says, and he looks like he's second guessing himself, and Steve can't have that.

"Of course I want." Steve leans in to kiss him again, to hold him close regardless of the fact that both of them are a complete and utter mess.

They get to the shower eventually, and if it takes them longer than it should to get clean, it's not their fault; Steve can't seem to stop touching Bucky, and Bucky can't seem to stop touching Steve. They kiss under the warm spray of water, and they kiss while they're drying off—quickly, because the air is chilly—and they keep kissing when they're tucked in to Bucky's bed.

The pillows smells like Bucky's shampoo, and Steve is tucked up against Bucky's chest. They have to sleep right up against each other, because the bed is not small, but neither are either of them.

Steve knows that this is only the beginning of the next chapter of the two of them. Maybe in the morning, Bucky will change his mind; maybe he'll decide they're better off as friends after all. But maybe, they'll keep doing this, keep finding out new ways to be more to each other. Maybe next year, they'll celebrate Bucky's birthday and their anniversary. He can see the future unrolling ahead of them, and while he doesn't know what the shape of it will be, he finds that he is hopeful. He wraps his arm around Bucky's chest, and feels the solid warmth of him, the comforting beat of his heart against Steve's skin

"Happy birthday, Buck," Steve murmurs as they're drifting off.

"Best one yet," Bucky says.

“So far,” Steve mumbles, or thinks he does. He’s going to take it as a challenge to make the next one even better.


End file.
